


Don't Turn The Lights Out

by sacheland



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Everything is somewhat the same except Victor and Yuri are cannibals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Murder, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2017-08-31
Packaged: 2018-12-22 04:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11959683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacheland/pseuds/sacheland
Summary: It is not even an option to kill Yuuri. They both know it.And if there is, it’s out of their hands. Yuuri will find out, and it depends on what he chooses. To have them arrested—the logical choice any rational person would make—orto accept them.Victor sincerely hopes it’ll be the latter.





	Don't Turn The Lights Out

**Author's Note:**

> I choose cannibalism for shit bang because I'm very offended that cannibalism isn't included in the shit list.
> 
> Anyway, all the weird stuff already covered in the tags. Somewhat... (I mean, the Implied Child Abuse is including underage and sexual abuse but like, it's still implied anyway).
> 
> And this kinda gore, I guess? (I don't think it's gore enough but my brain is a bit skewed about gore so)
> 
> Still, the 'Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings' tag is strong in this one so proceeds with caution.
> 
> Also, thanks to Myshka for her help editing this fic.
> 
> This is a non-linear narrative. Present tense is for present, while past tense is for the past (ha!).

At first, he thought he saw an angel. One with long silver hair pulled up and a silver knife in hand, standing over that man's body.

He crawled from under the bed, bruised hands and knees shaking from pain. "Who—are you?" Yuri croaked, "is—is he dead?"

The man turned to him, taking the black and blue colors on his skin, the dried blood and semen dripping from him. “Hmm? Not yet.”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“And if I am?”

“You can’t.”

A cold smile appeared on his face. “And why is that?”

“Because I’ll be the one who'll kill him,” Yuri said with conviction. He’ll be the one who kills that—that disgusting bastard who killed his Grandpa, his mother and took him to be his toy. “Give me that knife.”

"Ah," the man playfully twirls the knife. "The baby wants this?"

"I'm—I'm not a baby!" Yuri walked closer. "Give me that knife!"

"If I give you this knife, what will you do with it?" He stepped on the back of the bastard with frightened eyes and gagged mouth on the floor, cutting off his breath for a moment. "Will you cut his skin slowly," the tip of knife touched the bastard's cheek. Slow, rivulets of blood slipping on his cheek as the man let out a gagged scream, "then digging deeper—and deeper until you reach the other end." The man smiled as the knife sunk deeper inside the bastard's cheek, passing the gag and reached the other cheek. "Or," he quickly took the knife out, ignoring the dripping blood and looking almost bored as he turned to Yuri, "are you going to stab this man, again and again, until he's nothing but a mutilated meat?"

Yuri watched the pool of blood on the floor from the gash and knew what he wanted. "Give me that knife and I'll butcher this— _this garbage_ —"

"Nope!"

"Why you—" Yuri clenched his fists. "FUCK YOU! THAT ASSHOLE KILLED EVERYONE—I HAVE NO ONE AND HE—HE DARED TO—"

"Now kitten, I have no interest for your story now," he raised a hand when Yuri about to interrupt. "You, you're a kid, full of anger and no sensibility. If I give you the knife, you'll come here with your rage and stab this man over and over."

"And that is bad why?"

"Come here, I'll give you a pointer, kid." He crouched down before a big sports bag on the floor. "First, you don't look anywhere near prepared," he gave Yuri a once over and offered a pack of wet tissues and a plastic bag. "Too many things to pick on. We have to clean this place thoroughly."

Warily, Yuri wiped himself and put the used tissues inside the plastic bag. "Can I kill him now?"

"Not yet."

"You—"

"Kid," cold blue eyes—murderer, his mind whispered—glanced at him. "You'll do as I say or you will never get your chance, hmm?"

Yuri didn't want to die before he killed that man. "Now what?" He said, trying to hide his fear with forced bravery.

The man smiled, and Yuri knew he could sense his fear. "I haven't actually planned anything other than hunting tonight," he eyed the gagged man on the floor. "But I'm always up for a surprise hunting—or revenge, I guess. Anyway, we have to clean everything first, to erase your trace from this place."

"Why didn't we kill him first before we clean?"

"His organs would be rotten before we finished cleaning," he said as if it was obvious, giving Yuri huge gloves that he eyed distastefully.

They cleaned up everything, the man was humming all the while but Yuri was quiet. He didn't understand this man yet. He didn't understand why this man wanted organs. He didn't understand why this man hadn't killed him yet—except to toy with him. He didn't understand.

But Yuri didn't care because all he wanted was to kill that bastard in the most painful way.

"Now onto the main course!" He clapped his hands. "Do you have any idea what we're going to do?"

"Aren't you supposed to be the one telling me?"

The man looked affronted. "Of course not! This is your revenge, isn't it? I'm just going to help you."

What a weird thing to say about murder. "Stab him repeatedly?"

"That's just boring, kid." He sighed. "Anyway, we have to take a look at our prey first, shall we?"

The pathetic bastard was still the crying on the floor with a gag in his mouth. Yuri raised his foot—

"No," the man stopped his foot from crushing the bastard. "You're going to leave prints if you do that."

"Isn't that the point?" Really, what was it this man actually _wanted to do_ when he kept stopping him? "Why do you keep stopping me!?"

The man, as expected, ignored his questions. "What do you hate the most of this man?"

"He's—he's a piece of shit! This bastard killed my family and he—" Yuri could taste bile rose up to his throat. "He kept looking at me, he did— _did this_ to me—and I'll kill this motherfucker!"

"You're a mouthy brat for a five-year-old."

"I'M NOT FIVE!"

"You hate his eyes, don't you?" The man leaned forward, looking over the tears and snot and blood dripping from the bastard's face. "How about we took his eyes?"

"What—" he started to ask but then he watched.

Two fingers, faster than his eyes could comprehend, snatched an eye out. Blood and liquid tainting his glove as the eyeball rolled on the open palm, the dark iris couldn't be seen.

But Yuri could see, the satisfied smirk on the man's face; the gaping hole where the bastard's eyeball supposed to be; the blood pouring heavily, mixed with tears and snot passing the injury from the knife before. He could hear the scream, _muffled scream_ of agony; through the gag and drilled into his mind.

"You took his eye," he finally said.

"It's not a pretty eye," he wiped the blood from his hand, casually putting the eyeball in a cooler box he brought. "But it's okay, I guess."

There's nothing he could say to the scene—straight from nightmare. How calmly that man gouged an eye, how— _how mundane_ he made himself look. As if it's another day of hunting animals and not hunting humans.

"Do you want to try to take the other one?"

He knew his answer going to be. "Yes," for the eye, or anything the man planned.

The man smiled.

———

“Are you going to kill me now?”

The man glanced at him briefly from the bunny plushie on his hands, replacing the buttons of plushie's eyes with eyeballs and sewn the bastard's mutilated penis between stuffed legs. "Why? Do you want me to kill you?"

Yuri watched him put the bunny plushie in front of the bastard's face, putting the dick in his mouth. "I have nothing left anymore." Carving the knife between the ribs of the bastard's body like tiger stripes and watching the blood pooled under his body might give him the satisfaction of revenge, but  _it will never give his grandpa and mama back_. Yuri, in the end, was still alone in the world.

"Such big words from a five-year-old."

"NOT FIVE!"

"You sure?" The man tilted his head in amusement.

He scrunched up his nose, hugging his knees before the corpse of the bastard, lying on the pool of his own blood, skin lacerated with wounds from Yuri's knife and limbs tied by leather cuffs; his head faced the bunny plushie, mouth filled with his mutilated dick and eyes replaced with his own balls. Kidneys, heart, and lungs were taken into the cooler box. Yuri wondered what this man beside him would do to those organs. "I'm eight. Asshole."

"You're small enough to look like a five-year-old."

"And you're an old man!" He pointed the silver hair. "Look at your hair, _it's gray_!"

"I'm still young, thank you very much," he pouted, looking entirely too innocent for a murderer currently cleaning up the scene. "Do you really want to die, kid?"

"I've told you—"

"Even though it means this bastard win?" He raised an eyebrow. "He might be dead, but he did successfully break you, didn't he? You choose to die rather than to survive to spit on his face."

"He's already dead..."

"Yes, he is. You killed him, did you? Now, you've lost everything that's true. But are you broken yet? _Did he successfully break you_?"

"I'm not broken!"

"Prove it."

Yuri gritted his teeth. No, he would never let that bastard win. If it means he had to live, _then he'll live_. "I'm not going to die now."

The man beamed. "Good." He stood up, offering his hand for Yuri. "What's your name, kid?"

"It's Yuri," he followed the man's lead.

"Nice to meet you, Yuri. I'm Victor." He—Victor—winked. "What do you think about Rassolnik?"

“I like it. Why?”

“You can help me cook later,” Victor decided. “It would be a shame if we don’t make the best Rassolnik with these fresh kidneys, right?

Yuri glanced at the cooler bag slung over Victor’s shoulder. “Yes, that would be a shame.”

Victor beamed.

 

* * *

 

 

 _Love and the gentle heart are one thing,_  
_just as the poet says in his verse,_  
_each from the other one as well divorced_ _  
_ as reason from the mind’s reasoning.

—Dante

 

* * *

 

“Glaring at the rice cooker won’t make it cook faster, Yura.”

“Well, I can certainly try,” he scratches Potya’s back faster.

Yuuri chuckles. “How about you beat these eggs together in the meantime?”

Sighing in annoyance, Yuri cracks the eggs and beats them with the rage of a typhoon while Yuuri slices the fried cutlet and tries to fend off Makkachin.

“No, Makkachin, you can’t have this,” he says when the dog keeps whining near his feet.

“Makkachin is an idiot,” Yuri scoffs. He points at Potya sitting on the countertop licking her paws lazily. “Look at Puma Tiger Scorpion, she's much more dignified than that mutt.”

“MAKKACHIN IS NOT A MUTT!” Victor wails.

“SHUT UP OLD MAN! YOU’RE ALSO A MUTT!” Yuri fires back. “And you’re so damn useless sitting there instead of helping us!”

“But I’ve sprained my wrist!” Victor pouts at his wrist. “It still hurts, Yura.”

“No, it doesn't,” Yuri snorts. “You’re just goddamn lazy, old man.”

“Well—” He lays his head on the dinner table. “Maybe I just want to see my dear Yuris cook for me?”

Yuuri stops Yuri from stabbing Victor with a spatula.

“Really, you two.” Yuuri shakes his head from amusement. “It’s a wonder how you both haven’t burn the apartment down by now.”

“The old man started it!”

“I did not!”

“You’re the one stupid enough to sprain your wrist!”

“So cruel, Yura!” Victor clutches his chest. “Yuuri, Yura is bullying me!”

“Yura is not entirely wrong,” Yuuri shrugs, a soft smile on his lips. “I know it’s the off-season, Victor, but you should take care of yourself. Really, how could you sprain your wrist just from buying groceries?”

“Well…” Victor glances at Yuri’s tense back at the words. “The groceries were trying to fight me off?”

That gets a laugh from Yuuri. “What? The beetroot suddenly wields a knife and yells battle march?”

“Something like that,” he replies in a somber tone.

Yuri sits back on the dinner table as he watches Yuuri puts the fried cutlet, broth, and eggs on top of the rice. “What did Georgi want yesterday?”

“Nothing much,” Yuuri takes another bowl and fills it with food. “He wants my opinion about the new eyeshadow pallet. He said that all of you never appreciate his makeup skill.”

“Nonexistent makeup skill you mean.”

“You shouldn’t judge, Yura,” Victor grins. “Your Welcome to the Madness makeup was no better than Gosha’s.”

Yuuri quickly stands between them before they start another fight and puts katsudon bowls on the dinner table. “He also told me a lot about St. Petersburg,” he picks up a glass of water and takes a seat. “There’s a lot of murders and disappearances in this city, it seems.”

“It’s _St. Petersburg_. Criminal activity is always high in huge cities after all,” Victor shrugs.

“I guess you’re right.” He sighs, mouth chews katsudon absent-mindedly. “It’s not that I’m not used to it. Because even though Hasetsu is a small city with little to no criminal activity, I did live in Detroit for a long time. But there’s quite a lot of serial killers murders here? And Georgi said no one has been caught yet.”

“You have nothing to worry about. Stop being such a worrywart,” Yuri grumbles in annoyance.

“Oh? And why is that so? Because the Ice Tiger of Russia will protect me?” Yuuri teases.

“Of course!” Victor claps his hands excitedly. “No serial killers will ever touch Katsuki Yuuri! Right, Yura?”

“Whatever,” Yuri glares at them. “Can you stop talking about this in front of my katsudon? It should be a celebration for me!”

“Sorry, I’ll stop.” Yuuri pats the blond hair and Yuri growls. “Congrats for surviving your exam, Yura.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he shoves more katsudon inside his mouth, ignoring Victor lamenting about how Yuri grows up so fast.

Yuuri smiles.

 

* * *

 

“What are we going to do with Yuuri?”

Victor looks up, a hand holding a bottle and another hand holding the bleeding wrist of the body tied to the cold steel table—waiting for the blood to fill up the bottle. He’s been craving for sanguinaccio dolce lately, and it’ll be a good time to introduce Yuuri to the Italian dessert. Cialdini might have offered Yuuri the desert at some point when he was still his coach, but Victor is certain his sanguinaccio dolce will be infinitely better with human blood rather than low-grade pig’s blood.

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t be obtuse, old man.” The knife slides deeper on the thigh, efficiently taking a big chunk of meat and Yuri puts it on the tray along with the other ones. “We can’t keep him from knowing. Sooner or later, he will know what—what kind of people we are.”

He falls silent, blue eyes glancing at the body on the steel table. The man’s eyes are closed, his mouth is gagged and his skin has taken on a greyish pallor—he’s already dead from blood loss. Carefully, Victor closes the lid of the bottle and puts it on the tray. “What do you think will happen?”

“You know what will happen,” Yuri slams the knife down, almost breaking the femur. “Yuuri will find out, call the police and we’ll get arrested then executed; or Yuuri will find out, and we have to kill him.” His grip tightened. “This—it’s not going to last forever, the three of us living together.”

That’s true. Victor has no illusion that it will last. As much as he loves Yuuri, there’ll always be a gap between them. Waiting for Yuuri to fall asleep—deeply, always the heavy sleeper his Yuuri is—or making excuses so they can get out to hunt humans like animals. The secrets in this apartment—different from where they live and laugh—where everything is soundproofed; the basements in his summer houses; and the hunting lodges. Most of the property that Victor has, yet without any attachment to his—nor Yuri’s name.

Just like not many people know that Victor is Yuri’s guardian. It’s a secret they keep, since Victor doesn’t want Yuri’s career in figure skating to be overshadowed by their relations; nor does Victor want to drag Yuri down with him too, in the likely case that he’s getting caught.

He does—still feel the guilt, knowing that he’s the one who turns Yuri to be like _him_. For years, they've been too entwined that it’s difficult to separate their identities as different murderers. Because there’s no longer Victor and Yuri when they hunt. It’s _Victor and Yuri_ , one mind with different serial killer identities.

What he wants, is for Yuri to have a chance for a normal life—for them both to be happy. That's why he chased the man who owns his heart all the way to Japan, and decided to put Yuri in Yakov and Lilia’s care—as if that would be enough to give Yuri the normal life that Victor wants to give him so badly.

But he knows now. It doesn’t—it will never work. They’re too entwined, the bond between them is too strong.

“I don’t—” Yuri pauses, biting his lips. His wide green eyes are slightly wet and Victor is reminded of a younger Yuri—much smaller, full of rage and vulnerability—and he knows how different their life is now. How much happier they both have been in the past few months together with Yuuri—who is like the sun in their never ending darkness—and Makkachin and Potya. “I don’t want to kill Yuuri.”

“I know,” he sighs, eyes focusing on the knife to open the rib cage. It is not even an option to kill Yuuri. They both know it.

And if there is, it’s out of their hands. Yuuri will find out, and it depends on what he chooses. To have them arrested—the logical choice any rational person would make—or _to accept them_.

He sincerely hopes it’ll be the latter.

 

* * *

 

It was snowing outside.

Victor inhaled, breathing in the winter of Sochi. Another Grand Prix, another gold in his hand. Another day of smiling to the crowd, yet disconnected. It was such a burden, to feel uninspired. Once upon a time, Figure Skating was all he had; yet now it was a shackle to his ankles. Victor always thought of himself as an artist. He always remembered the words Lilia told him, that he needed to reborn—always as many times as he could.

And he did, he choreographed his routines, always strived to surprise his audience. In the end, it didn’t work. No one would be surprised by his skating anymore, no one to challenge him. The gold would always be in his hands.

His hunts were more interesting than figure skating. To reborn as different identities and looking for different, unpredictable method of operations. To be as creative as possible. There was no need to make himself known as a sole murderer when he could be anyone—wasn’t it the surprise, for people to think there were a lot of serial killers roaming in the city when there was only two in actuality?

But there was also another problem that he had to think.

“Yuri, about your free performance, the step sequence could use—”

“I won, so who cares?” Yuri threw his head back. “Quit nagging, Victor.”

Sometimes Victor couldn’t stop but reconsider his decision to take Yuri under his wings years ago. Sure, he cared about Yuri. He was the closest person in his life that they had a difficult time to be separated from each other; their codependent behavior and their merged identities as murderers. But Victor could barely take care of himself nowadays with the never-ending crippling fatigue in his bones and mind, taking care a _teenager_ could be too much sometimes.

Victor had to admit, _he really didn’t know what to do_.

“Hey, Yuri!” Yakov started to yell, “You can’t talk like that forever—”

Yuri winced at the rant and Victor had to smile. It was funny how much the scene reminded him of himself as a teenager with Yakov screamed his ears off.

A slender figure covered by a black and blue jacket caught his eyes. Dark hair and unremarkable glasses, unlike his step-sequence on ice. Yuuri Katsuki was the sixth in Grand Prix final. While his step-sequence was a beautiful thing to behold, but his technical score was low from how many jumps he failed.

He was also Victor’s fan. Victor could see from his skating. Yuri’s grumbles about Katsuki also told him the same way. After all, Yuri was rather pissed that Katsuki—who had the best step sequence _ever_ —was a fan of Victor’s abysmal skating. He wasn’t even insulted, Katsuki’s step sequence was amazing—like he created the music with his body. Though it was still funny that Yuri was a big fan of Katsuki—all the posters and all the hours he dedicated for Katsuki’s skating videos—yet Yuri’s step sequence was still— _bad_.

Which, reminded him how disappointed Yuri was when Katsuki didn’t do well on his FS. Or was it because Yuri didn’t take a picture with Katsuki? That should be remedied.

“A commemorative photo?" He offered. "Sure.”

Katsuki gasped. Yet, instead of accepting his offer, he turned his back on Victor and walked away.

“Victor,” Yuri elbowed him. “ _Not him_ ,” he whispered.

He blinked, glancing at Yuri’s frown and realized how deep his nails were digging into his palms. It’s true, he shouldn’t—even if he felt insulted by the rudeness—because it was too dangerous to hunt now.

Yet, he wanted. Stripping the rudeness into art, like the music Katsuki’s body created on the ice.

———

He didn’t know what he wanted.

That night in Sochi, left him more bereft than ever. Giving him a night of happiness with the man who stole his heart and gone the next day.

He wondered if the Prince in Cinderella story felt the same way.

He didn’t want to think about his _life and love_ , things he had never give a thought before. He felt inspired yet he was in pain, more than he ever felt.

He didn’t even want to think of what he actually wanted, to have Yuuri Katsuki in his life, or have him on his plate—to devour his heart and body and drink his blood. What would be the most satisfying option for him?

“Victor, I’m going out.”

“Hmmm? Where are you going?” Victor glanced at him over the back of the couch.

“I said I’m going out, didn’t I?”

“Are you going out with friends?” He teased. “Does Yuri have friends now? You have to bring them to meet your guardian here! I’m excited to see your friends!”

“FUCK OFF!” Yuri roared and slammed the apartment door close.

Always full of rage, that Yuri. Victor ran his hand through Makkachin’s fur, sighing softly.

It was another thing to think about. Victor wasn’t the only one who neglected his life and love, Yuri did too. Mila might be close to Yuri’s age, but their relationship was more a teasing sister to her little brother than actual friendship. Yuri didn’t have friends. Yuri didn’t have a normal life for his age, being a celebrated Russian junior skater and a murderer since he was young.

Victor had never given him a chance for a normal life.

“It’s awful, Makkachin.” He buried his face in the fur.

He didn’t know how long the time had passed, until the onslaught of notifications blaring on his phone and he lazily opened the lock screen.

The first thing he saw were messages from Mila, Georgi and Chris, sending a link to a video. A viral video it seemed, because even his twitter and instagram were full of people telling him to watch the video.

Curious, Victor clicked the video.

And replayed.

And replayed.

 _“Be my coach, Victor!”_ Yuuri, with his hands around him and wide eyes looking up at him.

Yuri, walking beside Yakov, like a normal teenager with a harsh but loving grandparent.

And suddenly, Victor knew what to do.

 

* * *

 

“Yura, run faster!”

“SHUT UP OLD MAN!” He wheezes. “I’m going to kick you!”

“If you can catch me, that is.” Victor winks and Yuuri laughs beside him.

“Come on, Yura.” Yuuri turns his head. “You can do it.”

“Shut up you too,” Yuri grumbles. “You have such insane stamina and the old man is a goddamn pholcidae.”

“Awww, is baby Yuri angry because he’s tiny?” Victor teases. If Yuri’s eyes are lasers, Victor would be dead by now. “At least baby Yuri memorize his biology textbooks. I’m so proud!” He clutches his chest and wipes his eyes dramatically. “And do you know, Yuuri’s insane stamina is—” he licks his lips, “ _amazing for other things too._ ”

“I DON’T NEED TO KNOW THAT!”

Yuuri groans, covering his face with one hand. “Victor, please.”

“Of course, _solnyshko_ ,” he says easily, totally unrepentant. “Anything for you.”

It’s quite a cold morning and most people aren’t even awake yet to go outside of their places. Yuuri loves running in the morning like this. While he’s not a morning person, but it’s interesting to see the roads so quiet and only their footsteps can be heard. It’s also nice to run through different routes and to see different sights of the city in the quiet mornings.

“Let’s go to that park to rest, okay?”

Yuuri nods eagerly. Behind him, Yuri just mutters, _“stupid Victor and stupid plan why did I even agree to this_."

There’s no one in the park, since it’s too early in the morning and the park itself looks a bit run-down. Makkachin would love to run in the park, Yuuri thinks. It’s a shame that Makkachin is too old to run far, which is why they have the evening routine to walk Makkachin around the apartment instead of bringing him to their early morning run.

The dawn breaks the dark night sky over the trees, and he breathes the morning scent of grass and trees and morning dew. It feels so peaceful, Yuuri can hear the sound of rippling water from a fountain nearby.

However, walking closer to the water fountain, there’s a curious metallic smell and Yuuri frowns. “Is it just me, but what is that smell?”

“It’s from the fountain, I think,” Yuri shrugs.

The water fountain is a little run-down, yet the water is still flowing. In the middle of the fountain, he can see the silhouettes of two sculptures. The tall one is a sculpture of a woman with wings on her back, each tips dripping water; her hands are straight in front of her, a ripple of water flows from her open palms to the sculpture underneath.

But it’s not a sculpture underneath her.

The light from the morning sun gives them the view of what it actually is.

It’s a woman in the shallow water fountain. Her legs in a split; back straight and face turns upward. Her right hand is reaching up for the water falling from the open palms, while her other hand is holding a bouquet of flowers close to her chest. Her dress and skin are stained by the dark-colored water with a metallic smell.

The fountain is full of water and blood.

And the sunlight falls over the corpse with the hand reaching up in longing, for the angel to give her water to soothe her soul. Bouquet of flowers full of hope and love in hands, yet everything is stained in red in the run-down fountain.

 

* * *

 

There were words that he should say, he should explain; yet all he did was looking at the night sky, walking down the road of Hasetsu with Yuri by his side.

“You’re abandoning me,” Yuri said, blond head looking down at his tiger print sneakers.

Victor sighed. “I’m not, Yuri. You know this.”

“You’re staying in Hasetsu, yet I have to go back to Russia. It’s not fair.”

“Yuri—”

“It isn’t—you know that it’s fine. I don’t want to have _a normal life_ if it means I’m going to be alone.”

“You’re not going to be alone,” he stopped walking and turned to Yuri. “You’ll have Yakov, Mila, and Georgi with you. You’ve known them for years. It’ll be fine.”

“You’re being selfish right now.”

“I know.”

“I don’t—” Yuri gritted his teeth. “I don’t understand why it is important to be _normal_ ,” he spat the word. “We’re doing just fine like this. And even if we’re not—even if we still have to try to be _normal_ , I want to stay here too with you.”

“It’s not—that’s only half of the problem, Yura,” he said softly. “I’m a bad role model for you—”

“Of course you are,” Yuri mumbled.

“—and if you stay with me, nothing will be different.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“I am,” he admitted. “But it doesn’t mean it’s not true. We’re too codependent. Our identities merge together when we kill. We’ve been in each other shoes for too long and I’m afraid that our identities can’t be separated anymore.”

“Is that even a bad thing?”

“It’s—” Victor ran his fingers through his hair. “It is bad because you should be your own person. But when we kill, _you’re me and I’m you_. We dissociate with ourselves to merge our thinking and create other killer identities. You’re still a teenager, I don’t want this to affect you in the long run.”

Yuri made a face. “That still sounds like bullshit.”

Victor grinned. “Yeah it does isn’t it?” He leaned down and patted Yuri’s head. “Please just try this? It won’t take a long time, I promise. Maybe in a year, I’ll be back in Russia or you’ll be here in Japan.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” The question was whispered, soft and uncertain. Yuri was just as hopeful as him to try, but young and afraid.

“We’ll get to it when we crossed the bridge, okay?”

 

* * *

 

“Yuuri, it’s time to eat, okay?”

Slowly, Yuuri turns his head. “Okay,” he replies, voice rough and eyes still puffy from crying.

Victor sighs as he follows Yuuri to the dinner table where Yuri lays his head and biting his lips. It’s difficult to see Yuuri crying. They don’t want to see him cry. Victor just wants to know Yuuri’s reaction to the murder, whether he accepts it as it is—an art form—or not.

Admittedly, just like what Yuri kept saying, Victor is an idiot. After all, who would want a gift in the shape of a corpse?

Well, _he thinks_ it’s romantic, but his darling Yuuri may be much more sensible about murders.

“This is braised stuffed hearts.” Victor puts the plate in front of Yuuri with a flourish. “Please enjoy.”

A soft smile rises on Yuuri’s lips. “Is it a cheat day for us?”

“It seems so,” Victor winks and Yuuri smiles wider. “Just eat it, _solnyshko_. I’ll just make you run and skate harder tomorrow.”

“Is that so?” He chews the meal slowly. “It tastes good. Thank you, Victor.”

Victor beams. “I’m glad that you think so.”

“Yuri, are you okay?” Yuuri asks tentatively.

“Fine,” he replies, glaring at the plate.

“That’s a relief,” Yuuri says before he looks down. “I—I’m sorry. I know that it’s difficult for you both too, yet I’m the one having a breakdown and not thinking about your feelings. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Yuri shoves the meal to his mouth angrily. “It’s the fault of—just, _it’s not your fault_. Don’t fucking apologize for that.”

“Thank you, Yuri,” he smiles and continues to eat, unaware of Yuri and Victor exchanging a look. “Thank you for the meal,” he says after he finishes eating.

“Go to sleep,” Yuri takes the plates. “I’ll wash the dishes.”

———

“Victor,” Yuuri whispers as they lay on the bed together.

“ _Solnyshko_?”

The nails dig deeper as Yuuri buries his head in Victor’s neck. “I—it’s weird, but I can’t stop thinking.”

“What is it?”

“The fountain, it looks so sad,” he pauses. “It’s run-down, _broken_ _in spirit_. And the corpse—” Yuuri breathes slowly to gather his thought. “On the floor, feeling like drowning and stained in blood; legs split, the opposite of choices that’s not hers to make. The flowers are her hope and heart, in the dawn after long night of loneliness. She’s yearning for the angel—the sun who lights up her world—the one she loves, wants her to accept her even though she knows she doesn’t deserve the angel. ”

Victor closes his eyes. He picks the flowers himself, red camellias, calla lilies, white lilies, pink camellias, red carnations, daffodils. All the flowers of his feelings for Yuuri, and the heart he served on the plate.

“Is it awful for me to think it’s beautiful?” His voice quivers in uncertainty.

He strokes Yuuri’s back softly and kisses his forehead. “Please don’t worry about it. Go to sleep, _solnyshko_.”

Listening to Yuuri’s even breaths and holding his body close, Victor stays awake.

 

* * *

 

“Bye, Phichit.”

On the screen, Phichit waves dramatically. _“Farewell, my brethren!”_ He says and Yuuri laughs at his antics.

Closing the call, Yuuri stretches his body then walks outside of the bedroom. The summer house is quiet but it’s not unusual. Yuuri is a heavy sleeper and not a morning person, unlike Yuri or Victor. They usually go to sleep later yet wake up earlier than him. For all they think about Yuuri’s stamina, Yuuri always wonders about their never-ending supply of energy too.

Perhaps that’s why they eat so much yet still retain their slender body, it's to supply their unstoppable energy.

It’s kind of unfair, Yuuri thinks.

He walks to the kitchen and reads a note pinned on the refrigerator with Victor’s handwriting.

**_We’re going out to buy groceries and Yuri’s textbooks._ **

**_There are breakfast and beef stroganoff in the refrigerator for lunch._ **

**_We’ll be back soon._ **

**_Love, Victor <3 <3 <3_ **

Smiling at the note, Yuuri eats his breakfast and looks outside the window to see the green grass and the hunting lodge.

Yuuri has never expected his life to turns like this.

He has idolized Victor for a long time, reading anything he could get about Victor. Yet, the real Victor is different from his media presence. He has always known Victor’s favorite kind of books, his love for cooking or the languages he can speak from the interviews. But there are also different things, like the fact that Victor is Yuri’s guardian since eight years ago but keep it a secret to protect Yuri from the spotlight; his hunting activities; or how he can’t sing to save his life that Yuri even once said Victor sings like a cat gutted in the shower.

And to live with both Victor and Yuri, sees them interact with each other—it feels amazing. Yuri is such a prickly teenager, but he’s caring and stubborn. Foul-mouthed with a brash attitude, yet can be quite an affectionate person.

He once read that pets are similar to the personality of their owners, and looking at Potya—he thinks it may be true.

There are still things that Yuuri doesn’t know about Victor and Yuri, and perhaps it’s important for him to know, but Yuuri will wait until they’re ready to tell him.

Walking into the living room, the sound of loud barks catches his attention. “Makkachin?” The dog has his paws on the window sill to look outside. “What are you looking at?” Makkachin barks again and runs pass him quickly to scratch his paws on the front door. “Do you want to go outside?” He asks and Makkachin whines.

He puts Makkachin on a leash and opens the door—Makkachin starts to run as soon as it opens.

“Makkachin, wait!” Yuuri clutches the leash tight to make him stop running. “Where are you going?” He asks again when Makkachin keeps trying to drag Yuuri. Sighing softly, they walk across the garden to the hunting lodge.

Near the hunting lodge, Yuuri can hear the sound of a cat meows loudly. “Is that Potya?” It must be why Makkachin is upset. Perhaps Potya entered the hunting lodge through the window and it accidentally closed. Yuuri doesn’t have the keys for the hunting lodge with him though. “Wait here Makkachin, I’ll get the key.”

Makkachin and Potya are still screaming when he gets back to the hunting lodge, Yuuri can’t stop but laugh as he opens the door. Makkachin goes straight to lick Potya’s fur while Potya snarls indignantly, trying to escape Makkachin’s over affectionate action.

The hunting lodge is clean, with wooden floor and various items on the shelves. Yuuri makes a face at the heads of deers and a bear on the wall, and the plastinated birds on top of the shelves. He honestly doesn’t understand the appeal of hunting.

Still, he thinks about the fountain. It’s bewildering, how something can so beautiful in macabre. It’s terrifying for him to think this way.

A creaking noise stops his musing. Bending down, Yuuri knocks the wooden floors. Seems those are pretty loose, he wonders if he should fix them.

But those aren’t loose, he soon realizes, at least not accidentally. Because underneath, there was a locked door—to a basement perhaps—and it’s sturdy. Curious, he stands up to grab the keys of the hunting lodge, smiling softly at the sight of Makkachin and Potya napping on the couch.

It feels like in a horror movie, Yuuri thinks as he opens the door. Well, Phichit said he should be more adventurous and really, what’s the worst could happen in Victor’s basement anyway?

The basement is dark, but Yuuri uses the flashlight from his phone to find the switch. The smell of strong chemical and something metallic hit his nose and Yuuri scrunches his nose. It’s a huge room and there are doors to other rooms. There’s a big steel table with shackles in the middle of the room and another smaller steel table. On the shelf on the far wall, Yuuri can see, is full of sharp devices such as knives, scalpels, and saws. There are also other tools, hammers and some strange things Yuuri once saw in the museum—ancient devices for torture. There are also pictures pinned on the wall and Yuuri can feel his heart lurches.

People— _so many people_ —tied on the steel table with a different degree of wounds and injuries. Pictures of dismembered corpses, shaped in different ways like picturesque paintings. And there is the woman, with her rib cage opens and hollow; right next to the picture of her corpse in the fountain.

Yuuri has seen enough.

———

“Oi Katsudon, we’re home!”

He doesn’t answer. Yuuri keeps stroking Potya’s fur on his lap with Makkachin sleeping beside him.

“Yuuri?” Victor stands before the couch. “What’s wrong?”

“I—I went to the hunting lodge,” he says. Both Victor and Yuri stiffen at his words. “I see.”

“Yuuri—”

“Are you going to kill me?”

Victor looks distressed. “No, never.”

“Yuri?”

“No, Katsudon—”

“I’m going out now,” Yuuri stands up and strides to the bedroom and they can hear him packing quickly. It doesn’t take long until Yuuri finishes and arrives at the living room where Victor and Yuri stand frozen. “Don’t follow me.”

Slowly, Victor speaks. “We’ll be waiting here.”

Yuuri nods and walks through the front door, feeling colder than he’s ever been before.

 

* * *

 

“So, what are you fighting about?”

He wipes his tears with the tissues Yakov offers him awkwardly. “It’s—nothing. Please don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not nothing,” Yakov puts the tea on the table. “You come back here crying your eyes out, obviously it’s not nothing. If it’s something Vitya or Yura do, just tell me. They can be stupid sometimes,” he says gruffly, though Yuuri can hear the fondness in his tone.

“Can you tell me what they’re like before?”

“That—fine,” he takes a seat before him. “Vitya is an idiot, I’m sure you know. Look at my hair, _he’s the culprit of why I'm bald now_.”

Yuuri laughs at the indignant expression on Yakov’s face.

Yakov puts more jam in his tea. “Sometimes I don’t know what Vitya is thinking. That kid has always been a genius, too smart for his own good that he does stupid things all the time,” he sighs. “It’s difficult to handle him, especially when he was a teenager. I could never guess what he’s thinking. He always acted like a fool, yet he was very secretive at the same time,” he pauses, looking down at his cup. “Vitya… he was lonely.”

Sipping his tea, Yuuri thinks of the first time Victor went to Hasetsu. Bright and cheerful, yet lonely.

“Then one day, he brought Yuri Plisetsky—saying he wanted to be the kid’s guardian,” Yakov groans. “Of course I—and Lilia—objected. That kid could barely take care of himself but he wanted to take care of another? What was he even thinking?” He takes a bottle of Vodka and pours it generously to his cup. “Still, he was stubborn. We helped him, agreed to his decision to keep Yura secret from the public. Victor was already famous even back then, and no kid could have a normal life under the spotlight.” He drains the cup in one gulp. “We knew something happened to Yuri before, something horrible and traumatic that they didn’t tell us. We were afraid that Vitya couldn’t be a good guardian for a kid as fragile as Yura back then.”

He tries to imagine a young and fragile Yuri. Remembering his face as he laughs and his antics together with Victor; or his expression when Yuuri told them he saw the basement.

“It was surprising, but turns out Vitya can take care of Yura,” Yakov sounds a bit incredulous yet impressed. “And both of them are less lonely when they’re together. They’re very close, you know,” Yakov frowns. “I don’t know if Yura takes after Vitya so much as a role model, but there are confusing instances. Sometimes I feel—Yura and Vitya are the same people. A ridiculous thought I know, and not important in our talk.” A hand grabs the Vodka and Yakov drink it straight from the bottle. “Anyway, ever since Vitya’s third or fourth consecutive gold, he changed.”

“Changed?”

“He was in a slump. Uninspired, bored even more than before. It didn’t help that Yura was in his teenage years, with more anger than could be contained in such a tiny body,” he looks at the wall with a somber expression. “We suspected that Vitya might have a high functioning depression but it was difficult to convince him to go to therapy, because he always pretended he was fine when he wasn’t. It didn’t matter that his activities were relatively normal—that he could create gold-winning routines—because he wasn’t happy.” He takes another drink of Vodka. “It was my fault too. Yura might be smart, but he wouldn’t know that Vitya’s behavior was strange; the kid was too much like Vitya and if Vitya thought it was normal, Yura would think the same way. And I was too wrapped up in my divorce with Lilia, I didn’t—I neglected Vitya.”

“Victor is a good actor,” Yuuri says. “He’s really good at pretending.”

Yakov glances at him, the slumped shoulders and puffy eyes. “Yes, he is,” he admits. “But you know, I’ve never seen them happier than when they’re with you.” He says fondly. “It’s been such a long time since I’ve seen their real smiles.” Yakov smiles, “Thank you very much, Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I—I don’t know about that.” He turns his head to see the night sky outside the window. The ring on his finger feels like a shackle. “Because I don’t know what is real anymore.”

 

* * *

 

“Victor? Yuri?”

It’s silent in the summer house and Yuuri wonders where they may be. Maybe they’re already gone, or perhaps they’re waiting for him to kill him.

Yuuri already knows it’s a stupid decision to go back to the summer house without calling the police. It’s not rational nor logical. Yet, there he is, standing at the front door of the murderers that he loves. “Victor? Yuri?” He repeats.

Sounds of footsteps and Makkachin’s barks reach his ears from upstairs. It’s not long until Makkachin jumps on him and licks his face while Potya climbs to his shoulders, meowing indignantly. “Hello, Makkachin and Potya.” He strokes their fur, feeling calmer than before.

The footsteps finally stop few meters before him. “Yuuri,” Victor calls, breathless.

Looking at them, Yuuri is taken aback. Both Victor and Yuri look worse for wear. Their hair unkempt, eyes puffy from crying and skin so pale and gaunt it makes the dark bags under their eyes stand out more.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Yuri mumbles. “Seriously, what are you doing, coming back to murderers’ place.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“NO!” They object simultaneously.

“We’ve told you that we will never—” Victor runs the fingers through his hair. “You—we’ve been here waiting for the police to call and yet—”

“I didn’t call,” Yuuri replies. Perhaps not a good idea to tell, but he already knows he’s a fool. They look gobsmacked at his confession. “I need to know something. You’ve always intended for me to find out, right?”

Head bows low, Victor answers, “Yes.”

Closing his eyes, Yuuri sits on the floor. He remembers that day. Potya trapped in the hunting lodge, the loose wooden floors, and the easily accessed keys. Everything was set up for him to find out. They know that Makkachin would try to find Potya; that he would check the loose wooden floor because he’s used to fixing them back in the inn; and—

“How do you know I would check the basement?” He asks. Yuri glances away with a guilty expression. “I see, you’re in contact with Phichit, aren’t you?” Everyone knows Phichit's attempts to make him more daring. If Yuri mentioned about his lack of adventurous side, obviously Phichit would never pass the chance to tease him in their routine video-call; and being a competitive person, Yuuri would go to the basement just to prove a point. “What do you want me to do, exactly?”

“Yuuri,” Victor sits cross-legged in front of him. “I—we—you already know it. It’s your decision.”

Of course, he knows. Because the girl in the fountain is a proposal for him. Telling him, that every choice he makes, Victor and Yuri will accept. If Yuuri wants to call the police, they won’t refuse and will let the police to arrest them. If Yuuri goes away instead, they will respect his decision and won’t try to find him. And if Yuuri chooses to stay—

“I understand.”

 

* * *

 

“This tastes good.”

“Of course it does,” Yuri grumbles, shoving another pirozhki into his mouth. “It’s my recipe.”

“You should cook this katsudon pirozhki for Otabek, Yura.”

At the words, Victor and Yuri exchange pained look and Yuuri gets an epiphany. “This is… _not actually katsudon_?”

“It has the same recipe?” Victor replies uncertainly, beside him Yuri grimaces.

“I—” He looks at the delicious pirozhki on his hand. It’s already eaten halfway. “I—I don’t want to know,” he decides and continues to eat.

Slowly, their lips quirk up. The smiles to warm his days.

Yuuri smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> I've always intended to write this fic as surreal as possible.
> 
> As in, there's no Victor’s back story because I don't want a sob story of the start of cannibalism. Like, Victor could even be inhuman, who knows? Definitely not me.
> 
> Even though this is such a pain to write and I’m not satisfied because it’s not gore enough; I still can’t believe I write a fic longer than 5K. Amazing. *sobs*
> 
> Now I'm gonna nap until nsfw yurio week and go back to my lair of rare pairs and crack fics.
> 
> (Song title is from Lights Out by Royal Blood. I kinda shove all the albums—and some from Barns Courtney—to my ears while writing this.)
> 
> —  
> Hit me up (preferably with a hammer) on [tumblr](http://sacheland.tumblr.com/)!


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